Away for the Weekend
by Halcris
Summary: The weekend task that Bodie and Doyle have been given, turns out to be full of surprises.


**Away for the Weekend**.

Doyle was stuck !

Stuck in traffic, that is. The road before and behind him was a solid mass of stationary cars, a colossal jam due to a severe traffic accident some way up ahead.

In spite of his wide knowledge of London's back streets, this time Doyle hadn't been able to find any side street that would have enabled him to by-pass the incident.

So he was just going to have to sit it out and wait, till the police, who were already on the job, got it sorted.

Usually, he and his team-mate Bodie, arrived at the Headquarters yard almost simultaneously, and reported together to their boss Cowley.

But not today ! Bodie would have to face Cowley alone. Doyle had already contacted his partner, and had learned that he was just pulling into the yard. So in a few moments he would be hurrying up the stairs to explain why he was on his own. Doyle hoped that there was nothing particularly urgent for them on Cowley's agenda. He was not the most patient of men.

Time ticked on with very little sign of progress. I'm going to be really late, he thought. Cowley will not be best pleased. He'd have to be ready for a few harsh words when he did get in. A frustrated Cowley was apt to vent his irritation on whoever was handy, even if they weren't to blame.

And he could do without that. His ears were still ringing from the barrage of words flung at him by Melanie last night, after he'd stood her up for the third time in a fortnight, because of work. I rather think that relationship is over, he mused. Pity ! She had been pretty good.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he almost missed the moment when the cars in front of him began to move. But he recovered quickly, and was soon on his way again. He made up as much lost time as he could on the last bit of the journey.

He was actually guilty of speeding, but nobody stopped him.

But as he parked his car, entered the building and hurried up the stairs, he knew he was very late. Cowley would be mad, and would likely tear him off a strip, even though it was hardly his fault.

But, no, his luck was in. He was spared that, for here was Bodie, coming down the stairs to meet him, a blue folder in his hand, and a scowl on his face. He'd felt the brunt of Cowley's annoyance.

But his face brightened as he saw his mate coming up towards him. "Made it at last !," he said cheerfully. "About time too."

He waved the folder at Doyle, "Job details."

"What are we on ?," asked Doyle curiously, for Bodie's scowl was back.

"A blooming nursemaid job, I'm afraid," snapped Bodie crossly, "I thought we might be in line for this weekend off. I had plans."

"Hard luck," commiserated Doyle.

And as Doyle turned round, and they walked down together, his mate filled him in on the details.

"Apparently, there's a very big conference going on at the Birton Centre in Wiltshire. Delegates are coming in from all over the world. We're down to deal with this particular one because he hasn't many friends, and might be a target for those who don't want him here."

"That's nice," said Doyle sarcastically.

"Yes, isn't it," agreed his mate, "We always get the awkward ones, don't we ?" The pair exchanged sympathetic grins.

"Anyway," went on Bodie, "We've got an hour to put our own stuff together. Then we have to do a pick-up at London airport, take them down to Birton, and stay with them till further notice."

"Right," said Doyle, "Let's get on with it. Pick us out a big fast car from the pool, mate. It's quite a run down to Wiltshire."

Bodie did just that, and then drove first to his own flat and then to Doyle's, so that both could collect what they needed for some day's stay.

Later, as they drove towards the airport, Bodie added a few more details. "There'll be two of them," he explained, "And although they are not Arabs, they'll be coming in disguised in Arab dress. There's always a few of them about, so it's hoped they won't be noticed."

The pair duly waited at the correct gate. Two figures in Arab dress came towards them, one slighter than the other. They identified themselves to the waiting pair with a pre-arranged pass-word. Bodie grabbed their luggage, and he and Doyle hurried their charges out to the car.

Bodie had used his I.D. to good effect, and the vehicle was waiting right outside, guarded by a policeman. Bodie loaded the luggage into the capacious boot, while Doyle ushered their passengers into the back of the vehicle. And they were quickly on their way.

Bodie swung the big car expertly through the busy London streets. He'd deliberately chosen a car with a closable partition, so the two pseudo Arabs sat quietly in the back, and did not attempt any conversation.

That suits me, thought Bodie. It sounds as though one of them might be a bit of a trouble-maker, so we're under no obligation to treat him as an honoured guest. We'll look after them to the best of our ability, and try to protect them if necessary, but that's the extent of it.

"Who is he ?," asked Doyle, after he pushed the partition shut.

"I don't know," replied Bodie. "Cowley said we didn't need to know till we got to Birton."

"I wonder why," said Doyle. "Doesn't he trust us ?."

"He is inclined to keep things to himself," replied his mate. They were quiet for a bit as each pondered on this idiosyncrasy of their boss's behaviour.

Suddenly Doyle interrupted their thoughts.. "I think we've got a 'tail'," he said, "That dark green saloon, two cars back. It's been with us a long time."

Bodie looked in the mirror. "Right," he said, "Let's check with a little detour."

At the next turning, he swung the car sharply left. The car immediately behind went straight on, but the car that Doyle was suspicious of also swung left and followed them.

Bodie skilfully took a couple of right turns, bringing them back towards the main road. As he turned onto that, Doyle who'd kept his eyes on the mirror, put in his report. "He's still with us ! Persistent blighter, isn't he ?."

Bodie grinned at him. Shaking off 'tails' was a skilful activity that he rather enjoyed.

"What do you want to do now ?," asked Doyle. "Call for an 'interceptor' ?"

"No," said Bodie quickly. He'd do this on his own. "Let's try Gilbert's Corner," he said, with a touch of excitement in his voice.

"Good idea," agreed Doyle. "He's pretty good, but let's hope he won't be ready for that."

Gilbert's Corner was a special place they both knew well. An extremely sharp left turn, round a high wall, led straight onto a narrow stone-walled bridge. It was a notorious 'black spot', which had to be navigated slowly.

But as they approached it, Bodie began to push his speed up. The green saloon followed suit, not wanting to loose its quarry.

With consummate skill, Bodie whipped the big car round the corner, and pulled it hard left to cleanly navigate the narrow bridge. He made it but the following car did not !

Doyle, watching carefully, saw it crunch into the far stone wall, and come to rest tilted, bonnet up, on the parapet, "You've done it, mate !," he crowed exultantly. "He's not going any further today."

Bodie sped on with a big grin on his face. The powerful car ate up the miles. And they were soon nearing their destination. They started to relax. Once in there they were on safer ground. The army were in charge there.

But, as they passed a side turning, a small silver car shot out and tucked in behind them. Doyle eyed it in the mirror, and what he saw spurred him into action. The passenger in the little car was leaning out of the side window.

"Move it, Bodie," yelled Doyle, as he snatched his weapon from its holster. "He's got a gun !."

Bodie hardly needed to be told that, as he'd heard the first shot, and the 'ping' of a bullet off the front wing.

"Take a tyre out, Doyle !," he snapped, as he put his foot down.

That's just what his mate was attempting to do. Aiming from one moving car towards another was not the easiest thing to do. It took several shots to manage it. But then the following car slewed wildly sideways across the road, and plunged into a ditch.

"We're having a busy time, aren't we ?," said Doyle, as he holstered his gun.

Five minutes later saw them entering the guarded gates of Birton Conference Centre. Their I.D.s got them in instantly, as they were expected.

Bodie drove up the long drive, and came to a halt right by the front entrance. He climbed out and went round to the boot to unload his passenger's luggage, Doyle opened the back door of the car and ushered the pair out.

It was then that he heard the first words the man had uttered.

"That was some ride," he said. "Your pal's a super driver, isn't he ?."

The strong Irish-American accent hit Doyle's ears, and suddenly he knew who their charge was ! He said nothing to Bodie yet, though.

The group entered the foyer. The man went up to the desk, and was given a key and a room number. He led the way to the lift which took them up a couple of floors. The room was easily found. Doyle shepherded them in as Bodie carried in their cases. And then they left to return below to see about their own room and where to park the car.

As they were going down in the lift, Bodie nudged Doyle. "Did you see ?," he asked. "A double bed. Do you think he and that lad are…, you know?"

Doyle turned to gaze at his partner in astonishment. "What's wrong with you ?," he demanded. "Are your hormones on holiday ? It's not a lad, it's a woman, his wife probably."

Bodie looked taken aback. How on earth had he missed that ?"

"And now I know who he is," continued Doyle, "No wonder we had trouble. His name is Michael Riordan, and he's a real handful. Well known for his strange and forceful ideas. He's got quite a strong following who consider him very constructive, and an equal number of enemies who find him difficult and disruptive."

"Yes," said Bodie, "I have heard of him. So we've got a 'tiger' to mind, haven't we ? But the other one, if it is his wife, she's a bit of a mouse. Hasn't said a word all the way here, and made no comment on their room either."

Yes, indeed," agreed Doyle. "Not like a woman, really"

"But there's another thing. As soon as we can, we have to let Cowley know that someone knew about his 'supposed to be secret' travel arrangements. He'll have to follow that up." As soon as they could, they got access to a telephone, and got through to London. They brought their boss up to date on all that had happened. He was not best pleased.

"Seems we have a leak somewhere," he said crossly. "Leave it with me, however, but be doubly vigilant. Keep a constant eye on him. Though he should be safe enough at Birton."

Having left their stuff in their room, Bodie and Doyle went back to check on the Riordans. When they tapped on the door and it was opened to them, they were met with a revelation !

Gone was the meek silent Arab they had ferried down to this place. Instead they were confronted by an attractive woman, in a very smart suit, with jet-black hair and flashing, bright blue eyes.

Wow, thought Doyle to himself, she looks a feisty one. I wouldn't be surprised if she isn't as much trouble as her husband.

They were invited in, and Bodie explained to Michael Riordan as much detail as he could about the routine of the place.

BIrton Conference Centre was one of the biggest in the country and was regularly used by many varied organizations. Its security was maintained by a large resident group from the Army. The grounds and the perimeter were regularly patrolled by armed men. The large building was monitored by a specialist group, and all the meetings held were unobtrusively attended by a few well-trained men in plain clothes.

The group using the centre at present had made a special concession to its delegates, by permitting them to bring their wives if they wished. This had pleased many who had taken advantage of this unusual departure from the norm.

But the organisers, in their hurry to please, and to encourage those they particularly wanted to attend, had over-looked one aspect. They had given no consideration as to how the ladies would entertain themselves while their men were attending important meetings.

The grounds of the centre were spacious but very dull. Large expanses of roughly-mown grass, with odd patches of unkempt trees and bushes. There was a games room, but few of the wives knew anything about snooker or darts. They did have television in their rooms, but the ladies, from many different foreign countries, found little to interest them in British daytime programmes.

Some of the ladies had been talking to the domestic staff, most of whom were local, and had found that ten minutes walk down the road was the typical English village called Birtonbridge. That could be an interesting place to visit, and would be a new experience for most of them.

But when two of them approached the main gate with the idea of walking down there, they found that the guards on duty there would not permit them to leave. Security was a priority at Birton and was fiercely maintained.

Incensed, a group, led incidentally by Mrs. Riordan, went to see the senior officer in charge. "We're not prisoners !," she protested vehemently. "You've no right to treat us like this."

Captain Phillips, who had medals for his bravery in battle, was nevertheless daunted by this group of women, led by one who seemed excessively militant. It was a situation he had not encountered before. He protested vigorously that when they entered his conference centre, they came under his jurisdiction and became his responsibility.

"We're not children !," came the retort. "We can look after ourselves."

The poor man was in a real quandary. He could hardly arrest them and lock them up, as he would have done with mutinous men. And he couldn't order his men to shoot them, could he ? What was he to do ?

In the end, he settled for a compromise. He would allow a small group, no more that ten, to go down to the village in the charge of two of his men. They must undertake not to wander off alone, but to stay together and to do as his men told them. This seemed to satisfy most of them. And in his relief at their acceptance of his ruling, he failed to notice the exultant gleam in a pair of bright blue eyes.

"Right," said Mrs. Riordan, "We'll be ready in half an hour. They left to return to the house to collect jackets, handbags etc, leaving a rather shaken Captain Phillips trying to decide which of his men would best cope with this task.

In the event it all worked quite well. A group of ten ladies, most from foreign countries, met their escorts and walked sedately down to the village. They chatted happily about all they saw. They admired a couple of very 'olde worlde' thatched cottages, loved the pretty country gardens, and giggled together over the antics of the squabbling birds on the village duck-pond.

The soldiers in charge found their job a lot easier than they had anticipated. The women were interested and friendly, visiting a couple of local shops, asking numerous questions in, for some, their very halting and inaccurate English.

They repaired to the local inn for a lunch of coffee and sandwiches, and chatted happily together in their own languages about what they'd seen.

All but one, that is !

Choosing her moment, when the soldiers were busy carefully carrying loaded trays, she slipped through into the bar, and started to talk to the men she found in there.

And when the two soldiers began to gather their charges together, ready for the leisurely walk back, Mrs. Riordan was conspicuously absent ! Quickly they checked all the obvious places, the ladies room, the inn garden, and the little shops either side of the inn, but the lady was nowhere to be found, much to their consternation.

Then one of the party remembered, that as she had returned from the ladies, she had seen Mrs. Riordan in the bar, talking to some men.

One of the soldiers immediately questioned the barmaid, who, knowing nothing of the circumstances, freely told them that the lady and the two men had gone off in the car. "They were told to stay together," muttered the soldier under his breath, as he hurried to find the phone to report and ask for orders. He quickly told Captain Phillips all he knew. He heard his officer let out a muffled swear word.

"I knew she was trouble !," said Captain Phillips vehemently. He ordered his men to bring the rest of the party back straight away. Then he got through to the main building.

The delegates were all in the main hall, engaged in furious discussion of some proposals that had been put forward. He was put through to Bodie and Doyle, and told them that Mrs. Riordan had not come back with the others. He was very glad to pass the buck to them, as he knew they were there to keep an eye on the Riordans.

"Now what do we do ?," exclaimed Doyle.

"Go and look for her ?," suggested Bodie.

"No, not both of us," said Doyle firmly. "You stay here and tell Riordan when he comes out of the meeting. And then stick with him. Don't let him go charging after her. I'll go and see what I can find out."

Doyle shot back to their room to collect a heavier jacket. As he changed, he hesitated for a moment. Then making his mind up, he donned the holster and slipped his gun into it. He added his I.D., his radio-phone and some extra money.

Who knows what he might discover down there. Was this just a feisty woman playing up, or was there something more sinister going on. A possible kidnap ?

He walked quickly down to the village, and went straight to the inn. He asked to see the register, to find the men's names. The manager, very keen to give any help he could, told him the two had arrived two days ago, and booked rooms for a week. They had been no trouble.

Doyle found a quiet corner, and called Bodie. He gave him the names from the register, so that his partner could contact base to see if there was anything known about them.

Then he went to talk to the barmaid. What she said was rather puzzling. Apparently it appeared that Mrs. Riordan knew the men well. She had greeted them by name, and appeared very happy to see them. The girl assured Doyle that she had not been coerced, and had gone off in the car with them quite happily.

Michael Riordan was now with Bodie. He had been given the news about his wife, and had a very worried look on his face. When Bodie took Doyle's call, and wrote down the names he was giving him, he was watching. When he saw the name Joe Petrie, he let out a groan and sank onto a nearby chair, his head in his hands.

"Stupid bitch !," he exclaimed. "I might have known."

Bodie stared at the man. "You know him ?," he queried.

"And some," said Riordan in a despairing tone, and went on to explain.

"Meryl has had a 'thing' about him for years, and really believes he loves her. He can wrap her round his little finger and he uses her to get at me. He's done it before ! She'll turn up soon with instructions from him about what I am to do and say at the next meeting. If I do as he says he leaves us alone for a bit. He threatens that if I don't comply, he'll take her away for good, and I'll never see her again."

He looked completely shattered and clutched at Bodie's arm desperately. "I can't lose her !," he said wildly, "In spite of everything I still love the stupid bitch. I need her !"

He sank back in his chair and went on. "People think I'm difficult and disruptive, but most of it comes from him. I have to do what he says. I have to !," he muttered, almost to himself.

Bodie's phone buzzed. He answered it, and soon learned from base all about Joe Petrie. He was a big man in Northern Ireland ! It was well known that he was the driving force behind lots of the problems in his own country, but nothing could be proved. Police there and in the United Kingdom were just waiting for the chance to get something on him, but had had little success so far.

As he was mulling over this information, a soldier approached him.

"Message from Captain Phillips," he said, "Mrs. Riordan has just turned up at the main gates. They're bringing her up to the house now."

Well, thought Bodie, it sounds as if what Riordan said is true. He put in a quick call, telling his partner that he might as well come back now.

Mrs. Riordan swept in through the front door, a self-satisfied look on her face. There was not the least sign of remorse or contrition for the trouble she had caused.

Michael Riordan charged forward with a big smile on his face. "Silly girl," he cried, throwing his arms round her, and kissing her fervently.

It was obvious to those watching that she merely tolerated his affection, and did not return it.

Captain Phillips emerged from the lift. He had been informed, of course, and had come with the intention of speaking severely to the woman for flagrantly disobeying his precise orders. But he didn't get the chance !

Meryl freed herself from her husband's embrace, and made for the stairs. "Come along, Michael," she ordered. "Just time to change before dinner." She moved quickly out of their sight, with Riordan following meekly after her.

Captain Phillips exchanged annoyed glances with Bodie, who hurried to try to placate the angry man.

"I'll have a word with her, sir," he said,

"Do that !," responded the captain, crossly, "And tell her there will be no more outings, because of her behaviour."

Bodie sat in the foyer, waiting for his partner to get back, thinking of all that had happened. What they had originally thought would only be a rather dull 'nurse-maiding' job had turned out to be full of surprises.

When Doyle came in, the pair went back to their room, and Bodie brought his mate up to date on all he had learned about the Riordans.

"Stupid man," was Doyle's response. "Why does he put up with it ? He should let her go, and consider it 'good riddance'."

"Ah, but the silly fool dotes on her," said Bodie. "He'll do anything to keep her."

"More fool him," said Doyle, a bit annoyed after what he considered almost a wasted afternoon.

The following morning, while Doyle went for breakfast, Bodie went along to the dining-room, to find out from Riordan which meetings he would be attending today. While not actually standing guard over him, he needed to know where he would be all day.

But he wasn't there !. A quick word with a waiter, and he learned that the pair hadn't come down to breakfast yet. As he moved towards the door one of the ladies stood up from her table and clutched his arm.

"Are the Riordans all right ?," she said, "They were having such a row last night, shouting at each other. We're next door, you see."

Bodie didn't like the sound of this. "I'm just going to check," he replied and hurried off. He shot quickly up the stairs, reached the Riordan's room, and tapped on the door.

"Come in," said Riordan's voice. So he opened the door and entered.

And then he was seeing stars, as Riordan cracked him over the head with a large bottle !

Riordan struggled to drag the heavy unconscious form into the room, so that he could close the door. Then his hands quickly reached for the article he was after. He clutched it and gazed at it with satisfaction.

Doyle was just strolling back across the grounds from the canteen, when his radio-telephone 'bleeped' suddenly. Surprised, he answered it quickly. The voice on the line sounded decidedly groggy.

"Doyle," said Bodie, "The Riordans room. Get here fast."

Doyle broke into a run, hared across the grass into the building and hurried up the stairs. His gun was in his hand as he pushed open the door, not sure what he would find. His partner was over by the small sink, applying a cold wet flannel to his aching head. He hurried over to him.  
"I'm all right," said Bodie, though his voice and looks belied him. "But look over there."

Doyle followed his pointing finger, and let out a gasp !

Meryl Riordan was lying on top of the duvet on the bed, clad in a beautiful satin and lace nightgown which enhanced rather than concealed her curvaceous figure. It would have been a perfect 'sleeping beauty' picture if it hadn't been for the darkening bruises marring the whiteness of her throat.

"He's killed her !," exclaimed Doyle.

"He's finally flipped," agreed Bodie, "and now he's on the loose somewhere, with my gun !"

"We've got to find him quick," said Doyle, already making for the door.

"Be careful !," warned his partner, "He's a desperate man. Could do anything."

Knowing he could leave his partner to raise the alarm and organize things in the house, Doyle shot down the stairs and out into the extensive grounds. He looked around but as it was still early there was no sign of anyone. But there were lots of possible hiding places in the overgrown bushes and trees.

And then he saw a figure. Not a fugitive, but a soldier, running at full pelt towards him. He broke into a trot and went to meet him.

"Captain Phillips sent me," the man said, between gasping for breath. "A sentry has been shot at the guard house by the gate, and the gate is open !."

"Riordan !," exclaimed Doyle. He brought the man up to date, and sent him back to inform his captain, though he knew that Bodie had probably already contacted him. Then he thumbed his radio-phone and called his mate.

"Riordan's out," he said, "Maybe making for the village."

"Want to bet he's after Petrie ?," suggested Bodie.

"On my way," said Doyle, closing his phone, as he broke into a run towards the opened gate and the road down to the village.

He made good time down the empty road, and dashed straight into the inn. He found a frightened-looking manager frantically dialling his phone.

"Crazy man with a gun," he gasped when he saw Doyle. "Wanted number of Mr. Petrie's room. Room three !"

Doyle made for the stairs and dashed up them two at a time. He'd almost reached the landing, when he heard the sounds he'd been dreading to hear.

A gun-shot from a nearby room ! A short interval and then another.

Doyle slowed his pace, and moved towards the room. He already knew what he would find ! He opened the door and went in.

Petrie was sitting up in bed, a surprised look on his face, and a neat round hole in the centre of his forehead. Riordan lay on the floor beside the bed. He too was obviously dead, by his own hand.

There were sounds from down below. Doyle moved slowly out onto the landing, to see Bodie and Captain Phillips pounding up the stairs, while armed men waited in the hall below.

Bodie took one look at his partner's face, and knew what he was going to tell them,

"I was too late," Doyle said grimly. He had done his best, but it still felt like failure, and he took that hard.

Bodie understood that, and squeezed his mate's arm briefly, as Captain Phillips went past him and into the room beyond.

"Maybe it was for the best," he said quietly, and met a grateful look from Doyle. Captain Phillips emerged from the room with a grim expression on his face. But he also had a determined look, as he resumed his role as officer in charge.

"I'll deal with this," he stated firmly. "I'll get onto the local police, and then take it higher. I have the contacts."

Bodie and Doyle were greatly relieved to hear this.

"When it's all sorted I'll send a report to Mr. Cowley," he added. "But I've no doubt he is now waiting impatiently for your report."

Pleased to be thus dismissed, the pair hurried back up to the Centre. They collected all their stuff from their room, loaded it into the car, and were off, having cleverly avoided answering any questions from the other delegates.

Doyle drove on the way back and although he was as equally component in handling the big car as Bodie was, the drive back was a very sedate affair when compared to the trip down. And both were rather silent as they thought over the astonishing events of what they had expected to be a pretty dull weekend. They would have to make a detailed report to their boss when they got back.

What would be his re-action ?

They pulled into the yard, handed the big car over to the pool mechanics who would make a good job of repairing the slight damage done to the front wing. They transferred their stuff back into their own cars, and then started on the trek up the stairs to report to Cowley.

Cowley was not in a good mood. He had put considerable work into trying to find out how someone had found out about Riordan's so-called 'secret' entry into the country, with little success.

And just ten minutes ago, he had had a long phone call from Captain Phillips, telling him in some detail just what had happened down at Birton.

So when the pair of agents tapped on his door and entered, they were met with a scowl. "Well," he said crossly, "That was a bit of a fiasco, wasn't it ?."

"Hardly our fault," snapped a tired Doyle. "If you'd told us from the start who we were looking after, we'd have been better prepared for trouble !."

Cowley was about to 'throw the book' at Doyle for talking back to him like that, but something stopped him. There's some truth in that, he thought.

So his tone was milder as he went on.

"Give me an oral report for now," he said, "and leave writing up the report till tomorrow."

So they set too, and endeavoured to relate as clearly as possible all that had happened. As he listened, Cowley picked up that Doyle at least was disturbed by events, and considered the mission a failure.

"Well, you could hardly have foreseen that Riordan would crack like that," he said at last, conceding mentally that really they had re-acted pretty well.

"Come in tomorrow, and do that report," he ordered. As they turned to leave he added a remark that cheered them up. "We'll have to see if we can't arrange you a better weekend sometime soon."

"He wasn't exactly delighted, was he ?," said Doyle as they walked down the stairs.

"Never mind," said Bodie cheerfully, "No longer our business. And at least, we have pleased someone."

"Who ?," queried Doyle , looking puzzled.

"The police and troops in Northern Ireland," replied Bodie triumphantly. "They will be very glad to hear they've seen the back of Joe Petrie, won't they ?"

He patted his mate on the back "So let's go out on the town tonight and celebrate ! I think we've earned it," he said.

Although he was rather tired, this made Doyle respond and cheer up a bit.

"Why not !" he agreed. "It wasn't our fault it turned out the way it did."

They went on their way, companionably, each endeavouring to put a hardly successful mission behind them, and to relax a bit before they had to tackle the next one. This was the normal way life was for those in C.I.5.


End file.
